


More then a Moment

by My_Coffee_Is_Hot_Chocolate



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animal Hybrid, He's definitely a pit bull, Hotshot is socially stunted but he's working on it, M/M, Please argue with me, Pre-Canon, Spot's a pibble, There's now Sprace, they're amazing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Coffee_Is_Hot_Chocolate/pseuds/My_Coffee_Is_Hot_Chocolate
Summary: After being imprisoned most of his life, Hotshot escapes and makes his way to Brooklyn. What happens next? Well, it's definitely not whatever the plan was.(Screw the first three chapters I'M GOING ROUGE!! STRIKE!!!!!)





	1. Hotshot you need help bud

Hotshot had no memory of a time before all this. He had been a chick when he was taken, his feathers had still been downey and his wings no more then gray stubs. 

But he remembered his tears and his sobbing. Being shoved in a chicken wire cage. Crying for his mother but no one coming.

After that there'd been Kenny, a dalmatian he'd met. He'd had bright blue eyes, eye Hotshot still remembered. They'd been older then a chick and pup, Kenny had lost the clumsiness and Hotshot's feathers were beginning to grow in. 

They'd held fingers for just a moment, through the wires of the kennel and cage. 

He never saw him again.

Hotshot had long lost track of time. He remembered a few things scattered as he grew.

He remembered when the ground was white and he learned to fly. He'd had no shoes, only tattered clothes, and it had been cold. But he felt more free in the air, his wings spread out and gliding. He felt like maybe, he could fly away. But the chain on his ankle reminded him he was still a prisoner. He always would be.

And then one day, a warm day, Hotshot broke loose. The chain slipped. His foot was free. He was free. He looked down to be sure and he smiled. The chain was dangling 20 feet off the ground. 

He flew higher, further, faster then he ever had. He taught himself to glide, to ride the current. He watched geese and other birds. 

But he guessed eagles had different flying styles. 

He rolled, he dived, and he soared. He was a mother fucking bald eagle. Well, partially human. But still. 

He didn't stop until he found a place he didn't know. The air smelled horrible, there was smoke everywhere. He could feel ash on his feathers. 

But he couldn't go back. And the blue place out there looked unappealing. Besides, he was exhausted. Wouldn't hurt to set down for a little while.

With what little he knew of landing, Hotshot set down on a roof. He tucked his wings, but not as tight as they would be when tied. They were still huge, and obvious. He wished they weren't.

The first matter of business was ripping off the chain. It took a lot of brute force, but it was off withen a few minutes.

The white feathers in his hair felt gross, as did the rest of his hair. He needed a bath. 

Hotshot looked down the sides of the building. Stairs weren't obvious, so he jumped and used his wings to parachute himself. Which hurt. His wings felt like they were being ripped out of their sockets.

Hotshot stumbled on his landing and tried to clutch his wing. It didn't feel right. Something was wrong.

He extended it just fine, and it curled around his body. Was it supposed to look this ugly? He plucked at a seemingly dead feather. It hurt, a lot. Enough that he decided never again.

He looked out at the end of the alley. People, not like him, were going about their days. None of them had animal parts, save a few tails and the occasional feather.

Hotshot gulped. Did he want to go out there?

But at the same time, did he want to stay here?

He made a promise to himself in that moment. He'd keep moving through the days. Always. If there was an adventure to be taken, a chance no matter how risky? He's take it. No more cages, ever.

He stepped out and into the flow.

To say that was terrifying was an understatement.

He tried to avoid curious people, the type likely to tug at his feathers or try and take him home. He looked at the ground, shuffling along. He doesn't want to panic, and he doesn't want to be grabbed. 

He makes it a couple of blocks before someone grabs his arm. Hotshot, after years of being yanked around with no care, just let it happen.

He found himself face to face with a boy, maybe his age. The boy had cropped ears, thin freckled fur on the back of his neck and arms, and a strong but short tail. And he was scowling. 

“You don't smell right.” The boy growled, deep in his throat. 

Hotshot shifted from foot to foot. “I'm new here. Just taking a break.”

The boy looked at his wings, his face, his clothes. Hotshot was mentally preparing himself before the boy spoke. “I know a place. And some people who can help you clean up. You're not the first pet 'round here.” 

Hotshot had no idea what that meant. 

But he was up for finding out.


	2. Hotshot has no idea what to do with himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotshot learns how to Brooklyn and how to Bird.

Hotshot nervously asked questions as they walked down the busy street. 

“What’s your name?”

“Spot. Are you a eagle?”

“Bald eagle.” Hotshot said softly. 

“Cool. We’re almost there. How you feel about people touching your wings?”

Hotshot blinked. “Uh… Not a fan. At all.” He tucked his wings tighter against his back. Was someone going to touch them? Tie them back up? He didn’t want that, he didn’t want anyone touching him at all. 

Spot, much to his surprise, nodded. “Okay. That’s how a lot of people feel. Don’ like people touchin’ my tail.” 

Hotshot blinked and let his wings relax a little. The rest of the walk was uneventful, which was a blessing for him. He’d had enough of the city, he didn’t want to be out here anymore. It was overwhelming. He opened his wings enough to keep people away from his body. The advantages to being an eagle. His wings were huge, 15 feet across spread. Perfect for making a big bubble of aloneness. 

Spot led him to a wooden building, one that Hotshot had no honest clue was. There was a sign, but signs don’t work when you can’t read. But he followed Spot.

Inside was a mess. Fur, feathers, scratch marks, a pillow stuffed to the seams with feathers on a clawed up couch, the stairs were a mess, and some cats had gotten at the banister. 

It felt like home. 

Hotshot flopped onto the couch and hugged the pillow. It smelled like other birds, but in a good way. A nest kind of way. 

He decided this place was perfect. He didn't need to fly any further. No one would find him here, he was safe. He was about to cuddle up with the feather pillow when Spot spoke. 

"Hey, kid, c'mon. Let's get you some real clothes. You're bigger than Myron, so we'll probably have to cut some new wing slits." 

Hotshot followed him, taking the pillow. He guessed that he should put a few of his own in the pillow, but he didn't want to touch the feathers. Not in a million years. As itchy as they were.

Once they were upstairs Spot shoved some shirts and a pair of pants with suspenders at him. He was confused, until he saw the holes for his wings. He stretched one out to see how wide it was. It should fit, so he took it and the pants into a room with a door. He loved privacy, especially when changing. 

His wings fit, and the sleeveless nature allowed the feathers on his arms to be exposed. To make sure nothing was chafing, he moved his wings around. They worked fine, so he was probably fine.

He stepped out, only for Spot to shove a hat on his head. Hotshot froze before adjusting it. The hair and feathers seemed to be bending the wrong way unless it was pulled down over his face, so he did that. He'd seen others do the same.

He looked up at Spot, who nodded. "Welcome to Brooklyn kid."

Hotshot felt a swell of pride. He didn't have to know what Brooklyn was, he just knew he belonged.

Downstairs the door opened, and Spot's ear twitched. He ran downstairs, probably to check who it was. Hotshot grabbed the pillow and hugged it close before he followed.

Downstairs, two new people looked confused. A girl with barn owl wings, and a boy with scarlet macaw wings. They both looked confused to see Hotshot. "Who the fuck is that?"

"I'm Hotshot." Hotshot said nervously, putting the pillow down.

"Myron, this is Joey. Dude, your wings look gross even behind your back." Myron came over and practically forced him to sit down. "Open up, jeez you need to clean your wings more often! These are all beant and old!" 

Joey sat down in front of him, examining each feather. "Did your parents never teach you?" She plucked three feathers as she spoke and smoothed seven more. "You're filthy, we need to get you into a bath. Jeez, how'd you let them get like this?"

"Easy for you to say." Hotshot mumbled. She had fluffy, soft looking wings. They must be easy to clean, he'd had no chances. 

Myron poked a sore spot on his wing and every feather on Hotshot's body stood up. This did make him look bigger, but they keep grooming him. This feels too personal, not meant for strangers. He tucked his wings to his body, and tried to seem smaller. Not a easy feat with large wings. 

Joey crossed her arms. "You want to be miserable? Be my guest."

Hotshot glared at her and she glared back. Myron continued poking around his wings until he found what he was looking for. 

"Ohh… He's from the pet trade, Joey, lay off. He's been through a lot, probably didn't get to take care of his wings." Myron became more gentle. As did Joey.

"Okay, Hotshot, do you know how old you were?" Joey asked carefully while she smoothed out his feathers.

"I only had my down." Hotshot said softly.

Joey looked at Myron. "Okay, we can teach you how to groom yourself. It's really important to keep your feathers healthy, and that does mean plucking them. Don't worry, they should grow back. You gotta be careful though."

Joey demonstrated on his wing and Hotshot copied her. 

"Okay, and you need a bath. So go do that. Myron can help if you have trouble with your wings." Joey helped him up and gathered the feathers. "I'll put them in the pillow."

Hotshot was confused, but he was liking it here more and more.


	3. Don't believe those stories, or you break your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- A memoiar by Myron
> 
> Plus, a cursed conversation for good measure.

It took a good while for Joey and Myron to be finished with his wings. They were both incredibly good, and he didn't think his wings had felt this good in a nice long time. It felt so nice to have someone caring and gentle card their hands through your feathers.

By the time they were done, there was a mess of feathers around them. Joey picked up a few to add to the pillow. Hotshot gathered up the rest. He wanted to make a nice warm nest, with feathers to mark who slept there. He was very much someone who nested a lot and very intensely.

Around that moment, a few stragglers wandered in. A dark haired boy with big, floppy lab ears and a blond cat who swaggered in like he owned the place. Followed by two smaller cats in the middle of an argument.

"Rats are not noodles with bodies!" One said, a tabby with a large, fluffy tail. The other, a blond with matching fur, crossed her arms.

"They are noodles with bodies and I will take that to my fucking grave." 

“They are not you jackass.”

“Dumbass.”

The lab groaned. “Spot, save me please.”

Spot facepalmed. “Raf, Hildy, save the conversation for later. Please.”

The cats glared at each other before stalking off. Hotshot was slightly scared, what the FUCK was the start of that conversation? He didn't want to know. The answer would probably scare him.

The tall lanky cat sauntered up to Spot. "Hey hon." He wrapped his cream colored tail around Spot, who seemed fairly amused.

"Putting on a show Higgens?" Spot teased, causing 'Higgens' to laugh.

"Yeah, sure Spotty. All for you."

"You're always a tease Racer. But there's a newbie, so let's not traumatize the poor thing more."

Race turned around, blue eyes narrowed to slits. His tail swished on the ground as he looked for this newbie until he spotted Hotshot. His ears went back and the fur on his tail visibly poofed.

Hotshot waved nervously. He felt his feathers ruffle and he got the feeling that he really should be running. Cats were hunters, and in this case he'd be the hunted.

Spot took Race's hand carefully, probably to avoid claws. "It's okay. Escaped pet, he's no threat."

Hotshot saw his ears flatten more. "How do we know he wasn't followed?"

"I flew. They can't follow me in the air." Hotshot said, his voice shaky. Joey, however, overpowered him. 

"He escaped, they don't bother after a few hours, at least with us." 

"Because for you a few minutes is a few miles." Race spat, his ears against his skull and his fur on end. "We don't know, they could take us all!"

"They won't!" Joey argued. "It's too much effort for a few birds, dogs and cats!"

Race hissed at her and stormed upstairs, his tail lashing from side to side. Spot looked over them before heading up after him. Leaving Joey apparently in charge. 

"Okay, Raf's turn to cook. Graves, your turn to wash shit. My turn to clean. Myron, you make the beds. And Hildy trains the new boy and we'll all pitch in to get him going. Who stole the most?"

No one volunteered anything. Joey sighed. "Into the jar we go." She marched off while Hildy sat next to him. She seemed very friendly.

"Hi! I'm Hildy, my parents own a butcher shop here in Brooklyn. What's your name?" Her hair bounced as she talked. She looked slightly over animated in her mannerisms.

"Hotshot." In comparison he realized that he was pretty muted in his actions. He'd never really realized, but now it was blaringly obvious.

Thankfully, Hildy seemed perfectly happy to sit and nap, leaving Hotshot to his own devices. He had a feeling he'd be noticed if he tried to leave, but it was starting to feel claustrophobic. He needed to get outside.

He tried to open the front door, but it didn't budge. His heart rate started picking up. He tried again. Nothing. Frantically, he threw himself against the door. It bended, it bulged, but it didn't open. 

In a flurry of feathers, one of the nearest windows was thrown open and Hotshot disappeared into the night. Panicking, Myron followed, gone in a similar puff of feathers.

Finding the blur of wobbly brown in the sky was easy. Catching up was hard. Macaws were not meant to catch up to eagles. Even ones who couldn't fly well. 

It took him until he landed to catch up. At that point they were both breathing hard. 

Hotshot looked back to see him, then looked ahead again. He'd landed, unknowingly, on the Brooklyn Bridge, looking into Manhattan. Myron say beside him. "Nice view."

"Yeah." Hotshot mumbled. 

"View's better back there." He commented. Getting Hotshot home was his top priority. It wasn't safe out there, especially not at night. 

Hotshot seemed uninterested. "What's over there?"

Myron glanced over. "That's 'Hattan. They're good over there, little soft but good."

Hotshot looked slightly whistful. "I feel like something's over there, y'know? Something I should know."

Myron did know that feeling. That sense of where home was. It was weird, and if he was one to believe stories he'd say it was whoever Hotshot had fallen in love with. But he was never one for stories.

"It's nothing. Probably just curiosity." He dismissed the feeling quickly. "You wanna go back? Dinner's probably ready, if you want some."

After a long moment of staring out across the river, Hotshot nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Jack here. I'm so glad you guys seem to be enjoying this so far!!! If you could, could you leave a comment? Not long or anything, just something to interact with? I try to always respond to comments and it'd mean so much!!


	4. This is all over the place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here have it. It's short it's unfocused, it's like me. This chapter needs glasses and a growthspurt

Race paced angrily. “How could you. How the FUCK could you?!” His tail lashed, his ears flat against his curly hair. His blue eyes narrowed into slits. “You know what a risk that kid is. If Snyder hears about a fucking bald eagle in Brooklyn, where do you think he’s gonna go?!” 

Spot’s own ears were pinned back, and his large teeth were bared. “He’s a kid, Racer. You got much more dangerous people on your side of the bridge! We can take care of our damn selves!”

Race stopped and glared at him. Spot could see the tension in his body. He was bothered. Really bothered. Spot did not appreciate it one bit. “Will you calm the fuck down? We’re fine here. Just go home if you’re so worried.” 

The blond reeled back. But his face was set in stone. "Fine. I'll go. Have fun dying." He stormed out, almost closing the door on his fluffy yellow tail.

Spot missed him as soon as he was gone. After a few minutes of sulking, he went downstairs to make sure no one was dead and shepard them all upstairs for bed. That turned out to be harder than anticipated because two were missing. New kid and Myron. 

Spot groaned. Why was it always Myron? 

He also noted that there was no sign of York or Rodger, border collies who were also brothers. Whatever, they were probably fine. Those two were resourceful little assholes. But they left him alone to herd cats.

He tried to get all people there upstairs. It wasn’t an easy task, as Hildy had to go home and Joey wanted to know where Race had gone. Spot ended up dragging her and Rafaella to bed. Graves went up by himself.

Spot only allowed himself a moment to look at the spot where Bart had once slept. 

Once he had the rest in bed, he sat on the fire escape and waited for his lost kids to come home. He watched as it got darker and darker and the world around him got more and more dangerous. Eventually two collies came out of the darkness. Both with brown ears and silky tails. York had an eye patch, the only way to tell him apart from his brother.

“You’re late.” Spot barked, climbing down the fire escape he’d taken residence on. 

York shrugged. “Sorry boss. Geese.” Roger nodded in agreement. 

Spot sighed. “Inside and bed. Now.” He left no room for argument. He missed the days when Brooklyn went to the dogs. Then he’d been able to keep his borough in line. Nowadays there were people with no sense of obedience and who thought they were smart. When they really weren’t. 

But, with the diversity came strength. And Brooklyn was known for being stronger than any other. And Brooklyn didn’t leave their friends.

Or at least they did their best.

Spot turned his eyes to the sky, waiting for the scarlet wings he knew belonged to Myron. And maybe the massive wingspan of Hotshot, blocking out the stars. 

Eventually wings blocked out the sky. And a flash of red signaled the people he was waiting for. Without further ado, he started to go inside, before something stopped him. He looked up at the moon. Full as the bellies of the ships in New York harbor. 

He slipped off. Everyone else was accounted for. He should check that his last pack member could come home to. 

 

\---------------

The bars of moonlight in the Refuge never seemed so terrifying. Especially not to the three children gathered together in the furthest corner. Tonight felt horrifying.

Jack Kelly, stared at the moon. Fuck this place. He wants to get the fuck back out. He just can’t get out. Snyder had cat proofed the place. And Jack Kelly, ever the bitchy and inventive kid he was, was still going to break down.

Because stupid human Snyder forgot Maine Coons love swimming. The problem was, he had to get a deaf Dalmatian and a terrified human out with him. He was not fucking leaving them. He planned to drag them away from this spot.

His tail twitched in nerves as a pained howl echoed through the building. He’d never seen whatever made that noise. And he sure as hell didn’t want to.

Because that howl was a wolf’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo it's Jack. Thanks for reading, drop a kudo or comment!! Please. Or hmu on Tumblr! I'm @i-guarantee


End file.
